


Crossed Wires

by boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cars, Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gardens & Gardening, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-03 23:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14580330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore/pseuds/boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore
Summary: Garak and Parmak share a home-cooked meal.  Kelas deals with ghosts from his past.  Garak discovers the limits of his gardening expertise.





	Crossed Wires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Savorybreakfasts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savorybreakfasts/gifts).



Garak watched Kelas carefully chop the vegetables he’d harvested from the garden.  It was impossible to imagine anyone doing this task more slowly.  It was as if he were in a trance.   Take a single vegetable, wash it, slice it in half, chop each half and be sure every piece is the same size.   Then tend to any offending slices or start over with a new vegetable.  It took hours.

Parmak felt Garak’s eyes on him and looked over, noticing Garak at last.  Giving him a quick peck on the lips, Kelas rested his hands on Garak’s collar and he shrank back in horror.

“Kelas!  Your hands are still wet and gritty.  My dear, didn’t we talk about ruining my nice clothing while you were cooking?”

Kelas ducked his head and hid a smile as he said guiltily, “Sorry.  I couldn’t resist.”

Garak noticed that he didn’t seem especially remorseful.  Shaking his head, he hung up his tunic carefully and changed into gardening clothes.  At least Kelas couldn’t ruin those.

A few hours later, Garak finished his gardening and came in for dinner.  As he had expected, Kelas was still at work.

“Dinner in 30 minutes, my dear.  Would you set the table and then prepare the sauce?”

Garak simply could not fathom what took so long, but he’d long since stopped questioning.  Kelas cooked so rarely, and when he did, they both enjoyed fresh food from the garden.

As the sauce simmered, he couldn’t help himself.

“My dear, how does it take you hours to cook a simple meal?”

Kelas continued to stir the vegetables, and at first Garak thought his question hadn’t registered.  The response was so soft Garak almost missed it. 

“I don’t like to skip steps.”

Kelas seemed uncharacteristically defensive, and Garak added some spices to the sauce, looking thoughtful as Kelas continued.

“My job...it depends on a certain kind of order.  It took me a long time to learn this."

He paused to check the vegetables, then went on.

"After I finished my residency on Cardassia, I spent a few years traveling.  It was almost unheard of for a Cardassian doctor, but I wanted experience working alongside doctors with diverse backgrounds and going where I was most needed.  We were a confident bunch; young and enamored of our own prowess, eager to prove ourselves.  There would be surgeries we'd never dreamed of as residents, and more than enough adventure to go around. ”

Kelas returned to the task at hand, meticulously seasoning the vegetables, lowering the temperature to be sure they cooked evenly, and to Garak’s amazement, he saw Kelas’ hand shaking.

He was taken aback. 

“My dear, if this is upsetting you-“

Garak removed the sauce from the heat and set it on the stovetop.  He took one of Kelas’ trembling hands in his and kissed his brow, gently tracing circles over the back of his hand. 

Kelas closed his eyes for a moment and then pulled his hand away.  He turned off the stove and, plated the vegetables with care, setting them aside.  

Garak poured two glasses of kanar and they sat in the living room.  Kelas sank into the fabric of the couch, not meeting Garak’s eyes as he sat down beside him.

“Dinner will get cold,” Kelas said, but he made no move to get up. Garak placed a hand on his arm reassuringly.

“It can wait.  You were telling a story.  I’d like to hear the rest.”

Kelas struggled to compose himself and continued in a stronger voice.

“Do you remember the relief efforts in Cardassia after the fire?  It was a madhouse, we had to manage with equipment shortages, non-sterile gear, and way too few doctors.  It still isn’t anywhere near perfect, but it’s a totally different situation.  Well, when it’s your planet, you pitch in, you deal with the less than ideal circumstances, you do the best you can.  Everyone’s in the same boat; you’re fighting for your people.”

He paused and reluctantly continued.

“It’s different when you’re working to help others.  We rushed in with our savior complexes, assuming we knew everything, positive we could handle the situation without oversight.  I was barely finished with residency.”

Garak was curious.  Kelas had never discussed this time in his life, and Garak felt a bit ashamed that he'd never asked.

“It was a war zone.  There were almost no experienced surgeons, and supervising dozens of young doctors was impossible.  And so I decided to try a surgery I’d never done before.  A fellow doctor offered to find someone with more experience, or at least an extra set of hands to check my work, but I was too proud.  I could save this young man myself.”

His voice shook and he continued.

“He died a few minutes into surgery.  It wasn’t even the complexity of the procedure that did me in.  I skipped a step.  A first-year med student would’ve known that I was in error.  If I’d allowed someone to assist me…  well, I didn’t.  No use dwelling on it.”

Garak put an arm around him and Kelas leaned into him, and they sat in silence, staring at the fire burning in the wood stove.  The glow was almost hypnotic.

Kelas finally spoke.

“Crossed wires."

Garak looked puzzled.

"There was a resident who worked with me, one of the few I considered a friend, and the only one who knew what happened. That’s what he called it.  Crossed wires."

At Garak's questioning look, Kelas tried to explain.

“Apparently on 20th-century earth, people traveled in ground vehicles called cars.  It wasn’t uncommon for the battery to die, especially in older models.  When this happened, the car needed a ‘jump’ from another working vehicle to restart the battery.  Since so many amateurs needed the ability to do this, jumper cables were color coded so that red and black cables went into their corresponding colored spots under the hood.  Crossing the wires could destroy the battery and alternator, necessitating expensive repairs.”

Garak nodded and he continued.

“An ordinary person would never make that mistake.  They’d check and recheck the colors, knowing it wasn’t something they were trained to do.  But he saw many a mechanic do it carelessly in a fit of overconfidence and distraction.  That was me.”

Garak stroked his arm soothingly, and they sat in silence, listening to the sounds of light rain outside their residence.

Finally, Kelas spoke, and Garak was glad to hear a lightness in his voice.

“Anyway.  I’ve been cooking all day.  Let’s sample the fruits of my labor.”

An hour later, the food was gone, their heated conversations about literature and Cardassian politics had mellowed and they'd moved on to childhood experiences with fresh food and cooking.

“I’ve never had much experience cooking, but I loved helping Tolan in the garden.  It was some of the best times we had, and, I realize, the only time I truly saw him.  He was rarely himself anywhere else.  He taught me to grow and recognize every type of vegetable, fungus, and berry on the planet.”

Kelas smiled.

“That sounds wonderful.  Although _every_ type of berry?  That seems a tad boastful.  Surely there’s always more to be discovered.”

Garak brought out a platter and said, “My dear, you ought to be glad of my expertise.  Since you spent all day cooking, I found us a variety of berries for dessert.”

Garak served them both heapfuls of each kind and dug in immediately.   Despite his frequent admonitions to others to savor their food, berries were one thing he simply devoured. 

They ate in silence, relishing the fresh taste of food right from the garden.

“Kelas, you’ve left over an entire helping of berries.  They’re delicious.”

Kelas hesitated.

“What kind of berry is it?  I’ve never seen it before.  Are you sure it’s edible?”

Impatient, Garak said, “Yes, yes.  I’m not sure of the type but I’d recognize anything poisonous.”

Kelas raised an eyebrow and said, “Just the same, I’d rather not mess around with it.”

Garak finished the rest of Kelas’ berries and patted his stomach, and Kelas laughed.

“Is it possible we’re a little too certain of our own skill?  I can’t help thinking of the mechanic who destroyed his car from overconfidence.”

Garak waved him away with an exasperated smile as he began to clear the dishes.

Kelas retired to bed for some after-dinner reading and replicated himself some tea.  He had lost all track of time when he heard loud retching.   Alarmed, he rushed to the bathroom to find Garak throwing up repeatedly.

Kelas leaned over and stroked his back, making sympathetic noises.

“Oh, Elim-“

Garak hurled again, then said, “There’s no need to patronize me.  You can bloody well say I told you so.”

Kelas raised his eyebrows as Garak retched, barely containing his bile as another wave of nausea hit him.

Garak finally lifted his head, beads of sweat covering his forehead.  Kelas stroked his brow gently with a wet washcloth. 

“I suppose I might have gotten the wires crossed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
